


Turnout

by CrossbowDontMiss



Category: Chicago Fire
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual relationship, M/M, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-22 04:34:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrossbowDontMiss/pseuds/CrossbowDontMiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sort of an alternate ending to s01e24, where Renee doesn't come back and isn't pregnant (but Shay is) and instead of Dawson going to check on Casey, Severide's the one that finds him at his house, on the verge of a breakdown. It's the night before Halle's funeral, and he decides that maybe, it's not a good idea to leave. Eventual Casey/Severide slash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pleasebekidding](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pleasebekidding/gifts).



> A/N: This is my first Chicago Fire fic. It's hopefully going to be part of a longer series, if I can get it done before I run out of summer. Hopefully, the characters sound right, and it's a good read! Thanks for giving it a chance.

It should've been him.

That's all he can think about when he sees Casey's face, now. That it should've been him in that hospital. He saw the look on the doctor's face, the hang of his head, and he knew she was gone. And when Casey broke down…it should've been him that went to him. It didn't matter what bad blood there was between them; they had been friends, once upon a time. Maybe they still were, when it came right down to it.

But he froze.

He doesn't freeze. It's not what he does. He's a firefighter, dammit; he sees a situation, and he responds.

That day, though, all he could do was stand there and listen to his sobs echo down the hall. Watch  _Peter Mills_  do what he should've. In that moment, he froze, because he realized nothing else mattered. Not their feud, not truck or squad. What mattered was the man standing in that hallway, crying into the shoulder of the wrong guy.

It should've been him.

The cigars were an apology, kind of. He couldn't change the past, but he could do better in the future, so the next day, he went out, bought a pack of Matt's favorite, and dug his cutter out of his sock drawer.

He didn't offer the next day. Or the day after that. Hell, he hardly saw him; Matt was down at the station, working with the cops on Hallie's case. And for the record, wasn't really sure how he felt about that – Matt working with that son of a bitch Voigt, after everything he'd done to him and Hallie – but he told himself that it wasn't his business. Matt would do what he needed to do, and Kelly trusted him enough to know what that was.

But then he saw him. It was a couple days after the fire, in the midst of all the bullshit with Tara, and he was passing his quarters when he caught sight of the blond head through the door out of the corner of his eyes. He slowed his steps, took a moment to take in the hunch of his shoulders, the way he was staring at that miniature halligan in his hands like it was the last liferaft on a sinking ship. And maybe things had been strained between them, but if anybody knew Casey, it was Kelly – especially now, he thought with a sick twist of his gut – and he knew that Casey was really,  _really_  not okay.

So, he reached into his pocket. He'd had the cigars in them, trying to find a good time, and this seemed like it. Clearly, he wasn't doing anything, and he really needed the distraction.

Their conversation only made him hate himself more. Made him feel like more of a let-down. Casey'd had to tell her family by himself. He could only imagine him driving that truck of his, sitting outside, trying to string the words together to let parents know that their child was gone. Their little girl was dead. It was bad enough when they didn't know the family, but Hallie…Hallie was his fiancée. They'd had their rough patches, but Kelly knew he loved that girl, and the thought of him having to walk in, and not only having to tell her parents, but to find out that her sister was there, that the whole family was there, and to still have to drop that bomb…he shouldn't have had to do it alone.

Kelly should've been there.

He didn't even know why he felt like that. Why he suddenly felt like friend of the year, felt like he owed Casey so much. He guessed, somewhere down the line, he'd realized that Andy wasn't Matt's fault. Andy didn't do anything he didn't want to do, and more than that, he did a lot of things he shouldn't. Casey wasn't any more responsible for him going through that window than Kelly was, and the more he thought about it now, the more  _stupid_  he felt for spending so long with his head up his ass. The more pointless all of the feuds seemed.

The more he wanted to get back to where they'd been, before…before everything had gone to shit.

So, his offer for golf and smokes might've had some ulterior motives. It was true what he said – that Casey needed some normalcy. That it had done him good after Andy had died to just get back into some of his old habits, not think about everything that had changed for just a little while.

With any luck, it would do the same for Casey. Get him out of that head of his that he knew, for Casey especially, could really put him through the ringer.

He wished he could do more than that. Casey needed more than that. Deserved more than that. But Kelly knew better than to push too hard. They were both kind of independent, and Kelly respected him too much to smother him, try to force too much on him. All he could do was offer him a lifeline, another raft for that sinking ship he was on, and hope like hell he'd take it before the thing went down.

He realizes now it might've been too little, too late.

It's the night after the prison fire. Everybody left the hospital a few hours ago, and Kelly's in kind of a weird place. He's riding the high of a new member in their extended family. A godson, and Shay's pregnant. He can't get his head around it. It's a lot of change, hella fast. It's good change, though. They need some of that around the station. Shay's decided to hold off on the announcement, though, until after the funeral tomorrow. Kelly agrees. Doesn't want the moment to be weighted down with something like a funeral, and maybe that's selfish or something, but…it just seems like the right thing to do. Hallie deserves as much. The baby deserves as much.

At the same time, he feels kind of out of whack. Stressed out. He can't stop thinking about today, at the prison. Knowing that his men, his friends, were stuck in there with a bunch of psychopaths trying to kill them – never mind the damn  _fire –_  and there not being a damn thing he could do to help them. Just get to the basement and find the guy that could tell them what the hell to do to get the power back on.

It had taken everything he had, when they'd gotten back out, not to deck Esposito so hard, he forgot his own name. He should've been able to help them. He should've had a damn plan, but he'd acted like he couldn't care less, that son of a bitch. Like it didn't matter if each and every one of them died in that prison. If it hadn't been such a mad rush after, everyone trying to wrap up to get to the hospital to be there for Hermmann, he might've been tempted.

It was scary, how close they'd come. At the hospital, he'd seen the cut on Hermmann's neck. Another inch, another pound of pressure, and they would've been telling Cindy the story of how her husband had died in that prison. Telling her how he'd never get to see his new bouncing baby boy.

Worse. Hermmann pulled him aside after, as they were all getting set to leave. Told him about how Casey had offered himself up instead. The guy was holding a knife, clearly meant to use it, and he'd volunteered to take his place.

Maybe, on any other day, any other month, he could've chalked it up to Casey just being Casey. He was that kind of guy: the kind of guy that would throw his life down in a heartbeat if it meant saving someone else's. Truth be told, they probably all would've done it.

But it wasn't any of the others. It was Casey. Casey who just lost his fiancée. Casey, who's sister was barely talking to him. Whose mother was God knew where doing God knew what, and couldn't appreciate just how lucky she was to have what she had. To get the second chance  _he_  had given her. Hermmann had a family, a baby boy on the way, and Casey—Kelly just wondered what it was that had crossed Casey's mind when he'd volunteered.

On the other hand, he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

It's the same, now, except for himself. He's standing on Casey's doorstep, a six pack in his hands and a pair of cigars in his pocket, and he's not really sure what's going through his head, but he doesn't really want to know. He doesn't want to think about it. He's tired of thinking. He's been thinking too much all day, worrying, riding the highs and lows, and he's just damn tired of it. He just…wants to have a couple drinks with his friend, have a smoke, maybe watch some shitty movies and shout at the TV like they used to.

He raises his hand to knock. No answer. He thinks that maybe he's not home, but the lights on, and Casey's too damn cheap to leave his lights on when he's not in the house.

"Casey, come on, open up. I know you're in there." He raises his hand to knock again, but that's when he sees the newspapers piled up by the door. There's six, maybe seven, and Kelly can't help thinking about all the times Matt's ragged on him for leaving shit on his door back at the apartment.  _It tells people you're not home_ , he always said.  _It's like begging a robber to break in_. So he can't quite figure out what the hell he's doing, letting them pile up like that, but he knows it can't mean anything good.

He grabs the doorknob, planning on giving it a good rattle, let Matt know he's not leaving, so he might as well open the door. He's not expecting it to turn. Matt doesn't leave his door unlocked, either. He doesn't know what it is about him, but Casey's got all these things about his house. He doesn't leave lights on, always gets the paper, keeps it clean. Maybe it's the contractor in him. Or maybe it's the orphan, the one that values a home he didn't really get a chance to have. He doesn't know. He's never thought to ask.

He thinks, sometime, he might.

Not now, though. Now, he's turning the doorknob and walking, slowly, inside. He should probably call out, he knows, let Casey know he's coming in, except he's already knocked, and he's already let him know who it is, so he doesn't, just keeps on inside.

The first thing he notices is the mess. There's junk all over the place. Bottles, boxes. More fast food junk than Kelly likes to think about, and a box of tissues right next to a bottle of pills that he doesn't know if he wants to read the label on. The trash needs to be taken out, yesterday, and there's blankets and a pillow on the couch that make him wonder if Casey's slept in an actual bed that's not his cot at the station since Hallie died.

"Casey?" he calls out, because he doesn't see him at first. Just the mess, and that's kind of throwing him for a loop, because Casey's place is never messy. Even when he just bought it, when it needed to be fixed up – and now that he thinks about it, under the trash that's covering the place, it looks a whole hell of a lot nicer than it did the last time Kelly saw it; he really is good at what he does – he kept it pretty clean. But now….

And then he looks a little to the right, into the dining room, and his heart does a dive straight into his gut. Casey's sitting there, an oversized gray sweater and a pair of sweatpants that are comfort clothes if he's ever seen them, head bowed in his hands like he's trying to hide away from the world.

For a second, it's like he doesn't even hear him. It's not until Kelly says his name again, a little quieter this time because he feels like…he doesn't know, like he doesn't want to startle him? that he shows signs of life.

He jumps up. Too fast, Kelly thinks, like maybe he's startled anyway, and his eyes are wide and bloodshot, and his face is haggard in a way Kelly hasn't seen since Andy died. Even when that mess with Voigt was going down, he didn't look so… _lost_. But that's the only way to describe him now. Lost. Broken down. He backs himself up against the table, hands holding it like he's wishing he could sink back into it. He glances over to the side. There are cards sitting up on the table, with one of the countless beer bottles sitting around the place – and Kelly's not so sure drinking is the right course of action anymore; at least not beer, maybe something stronger like the whisky he's pretty sure Casey still keeps in the cabinet under the sink – and he knows they're all condolences. He kind of hates the sight of them. Like a card'll do the trick. Like that's gonna make the guy feel any better, the constant reminder of what he's lost on a pretty little two buck Hallmark card. He may not be the best friend in the world, but he'll damn well do better than that.

Casey swallows, and Kelly can almost hear it as much as he can see it. He turns those clear blue eyes on him, all red-rimmed and heavy with bags, and Kelly just feels a knife twist in his chest, because… _Christ_ , he looks so sad. Like the whole world's gone, and he doesn't know why it left him behind.

He sinks back against the table, takes in a breath, and Kelly thinks he's going to say something, but he just shakes his head, looks away again. He doesn't know if he can't focus, if maybe he's had a few too many already, or if maybe he just doesn't  _want_  to. And he's not sure which option bothers him more.

Finally, though, he speaks. "Nothing," he says, and tapers off. His voice is hoarse and low, and it feels like Kelly's got a lump in his own throat just hearing it. "Nothing makes sense."

And then he looks at Kelly, and he can't even say what he'd give to be able to understand that look. It's like he's asking him for something. Begging. Desperate. It's like…it's like he wants Kelly to give him an answer to some question he doesn't know. Explain something to him that neither of them really understand. His eyes are shining, and Kelly's always believed that a man's tears are something private. Something he should keep to himself. But there are times when that rule's meant to be broken, with the right people and for the right reasons, and this feels like one of those times.

He doesn't really think about it. Doesn't really decide to do it. But one second he's standing there, beer in one hand and cigars in his pocket; and the next, he's got his arms around his friend's slimmer shoulders, tight, a hand on the back of his neck, and one between his shoulder blades so he can hear the thudding of his heart and the stuttering breaths.

It's how it should've been that day at the hospital.

It kills him, hearing Casey break down. He cries quietly. Silent, except for the quick, labored breaths. His shoulders shake, and he buries his face in Kelly's shoulder, twists his fingers in the back of his leather jacket, and Kelly knows there's nothing he can do, nothing he can  _say_  that'll make it any better. Make the pain any less or any easier to bear. He hates it.

But it's better this way. It's right, because it's him. It's his friend. It's not some rookie that's only known him a couple of months, it's not a doctor telling him there's nothing he could do. It's the guy that's known him since they were kids. The guy that was there the first time he broke his arm. The first time he got drunk. The first time he got  _high_. It's the guy that lost his best friend the same day Casey did, and it's the guy that refuses, now, to lose another.

"I'm sorry, man," he says, and clears his throat, because there's a lump in it the size of a baseball, and it feels like he's been chewing cotton, and it might be that his eyes are burning a little, but it doesn't even matter. "I'm so fucking sorry."

It's not just an apology for Hallie. It's not just an apology for the shit he's been dragged through the last couple weeks, for everything he's had to go through.

It's an apology for that day at the hospital. For freezing like that, for letting  _Peter Mills_  be the one to pull him off that doctor in the hospital and keep the grief from taking his legs out from under him. It's an apology for not being there for him through all that shit with Voigt, for not having his back when he needed him. It's an apology for blaming him for something that was never really his fault. It's an apology for all the months they wasted hating each other when they both probably could've used a friend more than ever.

And it's a promise. It's a promise to put all that shit behind them – or at least to try like hell – and give this thing another shot, because they've known each other too damn long, had each others' backs too many damn times, to keep going like they have been. They don't have a lot. Neither of them do. He figures it's time to stop ruining a good thing, maybe try to fix it. Starting now.

It takes a good five, ten minutes for Casey to pull himself together enough to back away. His eyes are red and still kind of shining, but he looks a little better than he did, at least. Enough for Kelly to flash him a muted sort of smile and, with a quick squeeze of his shoulder, slip off into his kitchen to raid his liquor cabinet.

There isn't any awkwardness. He thought there might be, but there isn't. He doesn't think any less of Casey, any differently. He has a heart, and it's been smashed open and stepped on, and Kelly'd probably be freaked out if it  _didn't_ bother him. Doesn't make him any less of a man. The guy fights fires for a living, puts his life on the line. How the hell could tears change that?

And Casey, for his part, just seems too frayed to care anymore. He's got enough to worry about, especially with the funeral tomorrow. Kelly's strongly considering just staying the night. He'll crash on the floor, kick it old school. Call Shay and get her to bring his suit by in the morning or some shit, because  _clearly_ , Casey doesn't need to be by himself.

He comes over with the bottle and two glasses balanced miraculously – lots of practice – in one hand, and he sees Casey heading for the couch, so he grabs him around the upper arm and steers him towards the back door. When Casey looks at him funny, he just tells him to grab a coat and trust him, and for  _once_ , Casey doesn't argue.

A shadow of a smile pulls at Casey's chapped lips when they're sitting down on the back steps and Kelly whips out the pair of cigars. "You pour, I light," he says. He gets to cutting the cigars, getting them lit, while Casey pours a pair of glasses. Kelly looks at them and snorts. "Come on, man. Don't hold out on me."

"I can't be hungover for the funeral," Casey tells him without raising his eyes from the glasses. His voice catches over  _funeral_ , and the lip of the bottle clinks against one of the glasses. Kelly pretends not to notice on both counts.

"You're not gonna get a hangover from one glass," Kelly says, rolling his eyes. He's got one cigar going, and reaches over to stick it between Casey's lips, since both his hands are kind of occupied. It's ridiculously familiar. Takes him back to the days when they'd pass a blunt around – him, Matt, and Andy.

Casey cuts his eyes up at him, looking like he either wants to be annoyed or grateful, and kind of managing a tired combination of the two. He puffs some smoke out through the corner of his mouth, and goes back to pouring.

"Better." And with his own cigar lit and perched between his lips, he picks up one of the glasses.

They talk a little bit. Not about Hallie. Not about work. Not about anything that really matters. They talk about sports, and Kelly mentions he likes what he's done with the place, that maybe he kind of gets why people pay him. Maybe. It's mostly just noise. Blowing smoke and hot air until their glasses are finished and they've smoked their cigars through. By then, Casey looks a little more alive. A little more grounded, a little more solid. His eyes are still bloodshot, his shoulders still slumped under the weight of way too much shit he shouldn't have to be carrying, but…he looks better.

When they go inside, he offers to stay. Tells him he's not drunk, but he's probably over the legal limit, and calling a taxi would be a pain, because it's better than telling him he's afraid to leave him alone, for both their sakes. Kelly's honestly not sure what's going on with him. Why he's got this sudden… _drive_  to take care of him. Make sure he's okay. But he's not gonna question it; just gonna go with it.

That seems to be the mode of the evening, because Casey just nods, tells him that he can have the guest bedroom if he wants, that it's all fixed up. Kelly's seen it on the way to the bathroom to take a leak, and knows Matt may have patched up the holes in the ceiling, may have put down the floors, but he knows why he's sleeping on the couch instead of in there: it's got Hallie's touch.

He comes back in with an armful of blankets and a pillow from the linen closet instead, and Matt doesn't ask. He's got that same mix of annoyance and gratitude, and maybe just a little bit of relief, and he waits until Kelly's made his makeshift bed on the floor to turn out the lights and sprawl out on the couch.

Kelly doesn't fall asleep immediately. Even with the whiskey buzzing dully in the back of his head, and the warmth of the cigar and the Blackhawks blanket weighing him down, he lies there, arms folded behind his head, just staring at the ceiling and listening. He can hear the cars outside, what few are still out. The quiet hum of the refrigerator. He can hear Casey shifting around under the blankets, trying to get comfortable, hear his breathing, hear it even out as he stills and finally,  _finally_  goes to sleep.

And then he closes his eyes, and follows him.


	2. Chapter 2

The funeral's rough. Kelly knew it would be, knew that there was nothing easy about saying goodbye to a loved one, but knowing it doesn't make it any better.

Shay brings his clothes by early in the morning. They're both already up – Casey's in the shower, and Kelly makes a point of turning up the TV loud enough so that whatever he needs to do in there, he has some privacy to do it – and he's raiding Casey's fridge for breakfast. It's actually pretty full, considering the amount of takeout containers stacked around the place. He guesses it's less about having the supplies to cook, and more about having the 'give a damn.'

He thinks the man deserves a pass, just this once.

The first thing that comes to mind is pancakes. He's not sure why. He just sees eggs, milk, and flour – and for the record, who the hell keeps their flour in the fridge? – and his brain thinks  _pancakes_. But he trashes the idea. This isn't a pancakes kind of morning.

He grabs a pack of bacon, instead. Fries it up. There's cereal in the cabinets and milk in the fridge. It's a functional kind of morning. A choke down whatever's easiest, because chances are, it's still gonna taste like sawdust.

He's got a plate of bacon drying out on a paper towel when Casey comes out in his slacks and an undershirt, still toweling off his hair, and  _damn_ , he looks rough. But all things considered, he looks pretty together. Much better than he did last night, at any rate.

They don't talk when he comes in. Casey passes him, grabs a piece of bacon off the stack and chews at it listlessly while he stretches up to the cereal cabinet. And either he bought the shirt too short, or he needs to figure out what setting on his drier to use, because it pulls his shirt up a good inch or two above the line of his slacks. Or maybe he's just wearing his slacks low, because his briefs are showing, and there's a comment on the tip of Kelly's tongue about how belts are kind of good for that kind of thing, when the snap of bacon grease draws his attention back to the skillet.

He almost smiles when he sees Casey pull down a box of Lucky Charms in the corner of his eyes, and he tells himself it's just nostalgic curiosity or something that has him watching to see if he still does that thing where he saves all the marshmallows 'til last.

He does.

He's not really sure why it matters. It shouldn't. It just…does. He guesses, after everything that's changed, and not for the better, the past couple months, it's good to see that some things never do. It's a diamond of relief in what is going to otherwise be a massive shitheap of a day.

Between them, they finish off the whole plate of bacon, the half a bottle of orange juice, and the whole box of Lucky Charms. He doesn't like the cereal quite as much as Casey does, but the only other box in there is Special K. Not only is it really not his thing, but he could tell from the look on Casey's face when he passed over it in the cabinet that it was Hallie's. He gets that look, that flash of surprised mixed with grief, and shuts the cabinet in a hurry. Kelly's kind of glad they finish the box, so he doesn't have to open the cabinet again to put it back.

He grabs a quick shower after. Uses Casey's shampoo and shit, because he doesn't think he'll mind and he's sure as  _hell_  not going to use Hallie's, for so many reasons, and Casey's already got a towel on the sink waiting for him. He knows from when he used to crash there, back before all that mess with Andy when he maybe needed to escape from the loft for a little while, where Casey keeps a supply of extra stuff for guests. It's all value packs from True Value, with cheap ass tooth brushes and tiny sticks of deodorant and tubes of toothpaste, but it's more consideration than Kelly usually goes to. He thinks maybe he should do something about that. He adds it to his rapidly growing to-do list and finishes getting ready.

They leave in separate cars. At first, Kelly's not so sure it's a good idea, but the fact of the matter is Casey's a grown ass man, and he's suffered a loss, but he's still independent. He can drive himself; he can take care of himself.

He follows him, instead.

Miserable as it is, it's a nice service. It's outdoors, and the shitty gray overcast that's been lurking the last few days clears up just long enough for the funeral and the burial. Everybody gives their speeches. Her parents go up together. Her father cries his way through half the eulogy; her mother, through all of it. They talk about how she wanted to be a doctor for as long as they could remember, how she'd never wanted to be anything else. They talk about how she liked to help people, and how, even though she was taken from this world too soon, she'd left her mark on it.

Her sister fares about as well as her dad through her turn, talking about how amazing a woman she was, how she always looked up to her. Her boys loved Hallie like a second mother, and Hallie treated them like her second sons. She talks about what a free spirit Hallie was, how adventurous she was, and Kelly doesn't really follow the segue from that to her relationship with Casey – he's not actually sure there is one – but she makes the leap, and then it's Casey's turn.

Casey doesn't cry. His eyes are kind of red. His face is flushed, and his voice is a little hoarse, but he gives a damn good speech, especially for someone that threw up twice before his first presentation in high school. He talks about the side of Hallie  _he_  knew – the smart, funny, work-minded-but-spontaneous woman he'd loved since the first time he laid eyes on her – and about all the good times they'd had. He doesn't talk it up, doesn't exaggerate anything or make it pretty for the sake of the people listening. He tells it like it is, and Kelly thinks it's better for it. There are enough flowers under the tent without putting them in their words.

It sounds terrible, but he's glad when it's over. Don't get him wrong – he loved Hallie, too; she was like his sister. And it was hard as hell watching them lower her coffin into the ground.

But he's never been a fan of long, drawn out goodbyes, and he knew Hallie well enough to know she wouldn't want everyone she cared about crying over her grave. It's not her style, and it's not going to bring her back. There are better ways to honor somebody's memory.

They end up all meeting up after the funeral for a sort of unofficial wake at Molly's. The place is closed down for the day, but when they get there, Otis cracks open the taps, and everyone gets a pint on them. There aren't too many people there. Not everyone from the funeral came – her family went their own way, and most of her friends from outside the hospital don't show up either – but the whole firehouse family's there, and a few people from the ER, and that's plenty.

They do a few eulogies of their own. And this is where Kelly gives his goodbye speech. If you could even call it that.

"Everyone that knew Hallie knew how amazing she was," he says. He's standing in the middle of the room – sort of the unofficial podium, with everyone in a sort of misshapen circle around it; Casey's sitting at the bar, still dry-eyed, but it looks like it's a fight to stay that way – with a beer in hand and all eyes on him. It's a whole different atmosphere from the funeral, though. Just a bunch of friends, gathered together to say goodbye to a part of the family. "We all have our own memories of her, and we'll all hold onto those. She saved a lot of lives, and changed a whole hell of a lot more." He raises his glass. "Here's to Hallie," he says, and there's a chorus of echoes and clinking glasses, and then silence as everyone takes a good, long pull of their respective drinks.

It's short, it's sweet, and it's to the point, the way Kelly thinks goodbyes should be, and as the chatter picks up again, Kelly makes his way up to the bar. There's a seat open next to Casey, and he slides into it.

He doesn't say anything at first. Silences have never really been awkward between them. Maybe charged, maybe  _angry_ , but never awkward. This one, though, it's just…there. It just hangs. Neither of them really have anything to say, or have no idea how to say what it is they want to say, so they don't try, just sit there, shoulder to shoulder, drinking their beers and letting the chatter wash over them from the rest of the group.

Everyone seems to understand that Casey doesn't want to talk. That's the great thing about their firehouse family. They get it. Kelly's got this one. Mouch shoots him a knowing nod, and Herrmann puts another couple beers down in front of them before wandering off down the bar.

Surprisingly, it's Casey that speaks first.

"She'd have liked this," he says. Kelly glances over at him, but he's got his eyes fixed on the glass between his hands. "More than the funeral, I mean. She'd have liked this."

That's the thing about him and Casey: they might fight like cats and dogs sometimes –  _most_ times – but there's a surprising amount of stuff they actually see eye to eye on. Not that either one of them would admit it out loud. Kelly's not even really sure why he's thinking about it.

He blames the beer.

"Yeah." He rubs a hand over the back of his neck, takes another mouthful of beer. The goal is to drink it all before it gets warm, and there's the added incentive of a fresh glass when he finishes this one.

Matt knocks back the last of his in one long gulp, and Kelly nudges a fresh one his direction. Finally, he glances up, if only just a glance, and nods gratefully. "Thanks."

Somehow, Kelly gets the feeling he's not just talking about the beer.

He shrugs. "What're friends for, man?"

"Is that what we are?" He sounds genuinely curious.

Kelly shrugs again. "Beats the hell out of me." He has no idea where they stand. All he knows is that Casey's hurting, and that they  _were_  friends. And it doesn't matter how murky the waters are, now; Kelly doesn't have it in him to let the guy suffer alone. Just the thought of it makes his skin itch, makes his blood boil. "Guess so. Unless you've got a problem with it." It's his turn to glance over, an eyebrow arched just a touch.

He's insanely relieved when Casey shakes his head. It's not much, but it's enough. It's what Kelly needs to see. Maybe they haven't patched everything over yet, maybe they haven't put out all the fires so to speak, but this is a start.

It's just a damn shame this is what it took for them to get here.

"I meant it, y'know," he says after awhile, and at Matt's confused look, he explains. "The other day. Smokes, hitting some golf balls. Whatever you need, man, I'm there. Okay?"

Maybe it's just his imagination, but he could swear he sees Casey's lip twitch. It's not a smile, but it's just a little break from the fifty shades of frowns he's been wearing all day. Not that Kelly can blame him for it. It's just nice to see some change.

"Yeah." Matt nods, and maybe it's not so much a smile on his face as just the lack of a frown. But hey, small victories. Kelly's learned to take what he can get and run with it, and he's going for the goal with this one. "Yeah, okay. Thanks."

Kelly doesn't really answer.  _You're welcome,_  is a phrase for people that expected the thanks all along. It's contrite. He's not interested.

Instead, he just flashes Casey a muted smile of his own, and tips his glass against his.

 _Anytime_ , it says.

And even he's a little surprised by how much he means it.


	3. Chapter 3

It's a whole week before Casey actually takes him up on it.

In that week, a lot of things have gone back to normal. As normal as they can, at least. Casey comes back to work. No more Voigt, and Kelly's relieved. Good fucking riddance. And he doesn't think he's the only one; Boden's looking a little less  _stern_  these days, too.

Despite their return to "friends" status, he and Casey are just about the same at the station. Amazing how, even without any real animosity, they still pick at each other like it's their job. Makes the hours pass faster. And if maybe there's less venom and more humor in the digs, well then Kelly's not gonna complain. In hindsight, the whole 'feud' thing was a pain in the ass. Now they just bitch at each other about squad and truck, about Kelly being lazy and scalping all the talent Casey trains up – he's kind of glad Peter Mills is still in truck; for one, he gets to keep his record of being the youngest person promoted to squad, and for two, he's pretty sure aneurysms are career-enders, so he thinks it's probably good if Casey  _doesn't_  have one – and just general firehouse rivalry.

It's good. Things still aren't quite how they used to be. He doesn't think they ever will be, not with Andy gone. But they're closer than he thought they ever would be, and he'll take that. Happily.

They don't have any really bad fires that week. There's a pile-up. Eight cars, but there are no fatalities, or even any bad injuries. Most people walked away with cuts and bruises. There was one broken arm, a couple concussions, but on the whole, not so bad. An old building caught fire, but it was a tiny little one-story standalone, and for  _once_ , there weren't any squatters. Honestly, he figured they'd be doing the property owner, whoever the hell they were, a favor just letting the shack of a place burn down. But actually, they got the fire out pretty quickly.

Slow week.

Nobody mentions it. They don't want to break the stride, not this close to the end of their shift.

It's pretty much a bona fide miracle, but there's fifteen minutes left in shift, and the alarm still hasn't gone off – knock on wood – and they're all sitting around the break room, all doing their own thing. Peter Mills and Dawson are flirting over food, like they usually do. And if this is bad, Kelly doesn't want to think about what their idea of foreplay is. He wouldn't eat for a week.

Mouch is sitting in his spot on the couch, feeding Pouch cheetos and griping at the game. Herrmann and Cruz are right there with him, and Otis has a chair pulled up and is watching like the secrets of the universe are about to be revealed on the next home run, but only that's only because he's got money on it.

As for Kelly, he's sitting back at the table, watching the three of them. They're more entertaining than the game, with five minutes left on the clock and Otis' team leading by one run and the Sox up to bat. Kelly's got no dog in this race; he's a Cubs fan, and it's Sox versus Cardinals. No matter who loses, he wins.

Shay's sitting across from him, feet propped up across Kelly's lap, munching on rabbit food because she's got it in her head that a little bit of saturated fat's bad for the baby. He doesn't bother trying to argue. Shay on a good day can be scary. New, slightly-more-hormonal Shay is a damn force of nature. So, he lets her do what she wants, and sends up a silent prayer for future him, in a few months. Or hell, a few weeks, if her forecast of morning sickness is anywhere near accurate.

These are scary times for Kelly Severide.

"Who's on?" Casey asks, drawing all eyes to the hallway he's just come out of. By now, everyone's gotten over the awkwardness, the whole 'going quiet when he walks into the room' thing, which he thinks they can all be grateful for, because that was uncomfortable as hell. Now, Otis just looks over his shoulder with a big cheeky Russian grin and tells him how Mouch is just about to owe him forty clams because the guy went double down on a homerun comeback.

Kelly watches his eyebrow quirk up, and he's not really sure why, until he points to the TV and says, "Hope you weren't counting on those clams." And Kelly follows his finger just in time to see the replay of a homerun as Mouch and Herrmann both lose their damn minds. He's almost sad he missed the first moments, although the amused sort of half-smug look on Casey's face is pretty good, too.

He chuckles, turning back to Otis who looks like he's passing a brick or something. "Ouch. That's gotta hurt." Naturally, he's sympathetic. He always hates to see the Cardinals lose.

Not.

Otis swears.

"Language," Shay reminds him around a mouthful of lettuce.

Kelly forces his face straight. "Yeah, man. There are kids present." And he reaches forward to press a hand to Shay's belly. She shoots him a look, but she's still so happy to be pregnant, he's pretty sure he can get away with anything so long as he tacks on a reminder. Well, maybe not anything.

He still swears he didn't touch her yogurt. He doesn't even  _like_  yogurt.

"So, I was thinking," Casey starts up out of the blue, once the commotion dies down, and all eyes turn to him, Kelly's included. He thinks he sees him flush, and damned if that doesn't make him smile. Casey gets flustered so easy, and the way it spread across his cheeks, all the way up to the tips of his ears is just so damn—

Kelly shakes his head. He doesn't know where the hell that was going. Or maybe he does. It doesn't matter either way, and Casey's talking again, so he tunes back in.

"—could head over to Molly's after shift." He glances over to Herrmann. "If that'd be alright with you guys, I mean."

But then Herrmann frowns. "Ah, sorry man. Cindy's mom turned eight-four today. We're throwin' her birthday at Molly's. I'd invite you guys along, but I'd hate to inflict the in-laws on you."

To his credit, Casey takes it in stride. "No problem," he says. "We can meet up someplace else. If it's anyplace that serves drinks, first round's on me."

It clicks for Kelly, then. He's always prided himself on his ability to peg people, and Casey's sure as hell not an exception. If anyone knows Casey, Kelly thinks it's him, and he knows him well enough to look at him now and see that this isn't just about getting together. He's too eager, and there's something else in his eyes. Something that looks a lot like dread, he thinks.

Casey just doesn't want to go home.

And that hits him. That hits him hard, because it makes him remember that night, walking in, seeing Casey sitting at his table with his head hung low. It makes him remember the feel of his sobs, the way he shook, the way his tears soaked through the shoulder of Kelly's shirt. It makes him remember just how much  _pain_  the man is in, and there's this bone deep  _need_  to do something about it that even Kelly can't explain, but he can't. Not really.

He swallows, and there's that damn lump in his throat again, making a comeback. It's been around a lot more, lately. It's Casey, dammit. It's always Casey, and that feels more significant than he thinks it ought to, but he doesn't want to think about it. That's the kind of thing a man thinks about when he's four beers in and three sheets to the wind.

Instead, he leans back in his chair, folds his hands across his stomach and nods. "Count me in," he says. Because he can't fix it, but he can try and help him patch it. It's the least he can do.

Casey's face lightens up a little bit, and that right there, Kelly thinks, is the way it ought to be. Casey's a pretty serious guy, as a general rule, but he knows how to smile. It just seems like he's forgotten lately; Kelly wants to make him remember.

"Sorry, bro." It's Cruz. "Got plans with Leon. Takin' him to the batting cages."

Then, it's Mouch. "Gonna have to beg off, too." He doesn't offer a reason, though.

One by one, everyone follows. Peter Mills and Dawson have dinner plans, Shay's going out with some old girlfriends from college – and he thinks they're just girl friends, not the compound, because she doesn't get that  _look_ when she talks about them that makes him want to go stock up on mint chocolate chip ice cream for his own personal safety – and Otis is doing Otis things that no one really bothers to ask about.

And all the while, Kelly's watching Casey's smile get tighter and tighter, because he's not the type to be a dick about this sort of thing, but Kelly can practically hear his thoughts. He's always there for all of them. They call for a night, he's there; Kelly's noticed, and he kind of thinks the others should have. But the one time he's the one that needs the distraction, they've all got better things to do. He doesn't look bitter about it, the earnest, good-natured son of a bitch, but Kelly can tell it's getting harder and harder to keep that smile in place.

The bell rings for the end of shift before Kelly can say anything, and suddenly, everyone's on their feet. They all love the hell out of each other, but the end of shift is the end of shift. They've already got their bags packed, and before long, everyone's out, even Casey.

There's a second where he's kind of miffed, because hey, he said he was in. Just because the others said they weren't doesn't mean his acceptance is voided. Casey shouldn't just forget about him, dammit.

But he knows better. Casey's got a mind like a steel trap. The man remembers shit long after everyone else has forgotten, even if it's about  _them_ , and he writes it off as just a little bit of miscommunication.

Still, there's something about the way Casey walks out to his truck, his shoulders kind of slumped and his head kind of hung, that makes Kelly  _itch_. He's got his own bag on his shoulder, headed out for his car, and he makes it all the way to the door before it just gets to be too much.

He calls an audible.

Shoving his keys back in his pocket, he turns away from his car and jogs over to where Casey's parked his truck on the other side of the street. "Hey, man," he calls, and Casey stops with one foot up on the runners to watch him approach. "You still looking to do something tonight?"

Casey's brows furrow, but it's not upset so much as confusion, and that Kelly doesn't mind so much. Hell, he thinks maybe he ought to throw him for a loop more often. "Yeah?"

"You asking me or telling me?" Kelly says. "Because that sounded more like a question."

And there goes the pissed off brow furrow, except it's muted. Still well within the realm of friendly conversation. It occurs to Kelly he really shouldn't have Casey's temper mapped out as well as he does, but it's a handy trick, and that's a gift horse he's not really tempted to look in the mouth.

"Yeah," Casey repeats, a little more firmly, and hangs his hand over the top of the open door, leaning a little in to the side. "Yeah, why?"

Kelly shrugs. "Well, I got nothing to do tonight. Shay's out with some girl friends—"

"Girlfriends." There actually  _is_  a question there – Kelly reads it as the same question he asked himself when Shay told him her plans: girl friends, or  _girlfriends_  – and the brow furrow's back to confusion.

He holds up two fingers. "Two words," and that must've been the right answer, because Casey's mouth makes a little 'o' and he nods. "Yeah, we dodged a bullet." Because he's really not one to talk, but Shay's history of girlfriends is not for the faint of heart. And he's confident that her post break-up slump would bring a lesser man to tears. "Anyway, if you're still looking to get hammered, I got a six pack in the fridge and a full liquor cabinet back at the loft. I don't mind sharing."

It's as much of an invitation as he's going to extend, and he's not even sure why. He figures he should just come out and tell Casey he's welcome over at his place, but that feels like it might be saying a whole lot of things he's not sure he should be saying. A whole lot of things he's not even sure he should be  _thinking_.

 _Feeling_.

Like how his chest swells up when Casey, after a long second, finally nods. He even cracks a little bit of a smile, although he's got that look like he's a little surprised with it himself. "That'd be great," he says. "You sure?"

"Nah." He says it just to see the look on Casey's face. What can he say? He's not a fucking saint. "On second thought, I think I'd rather drink alone and watch the Cubs game on TiVo all by my lonesome." He knows he doesn't have to tell him he's joking; there's enough sarcasm in his voice and enough of a cheeky grin on his face that he's pretty sure Casey can figure it out for himself. But all the same, he tells bumps him on the shoulder, tells him, "I'm joking, man. Just…come on over to the loft. You bring takeout, I'll supply the booze. Sound good?"

And there it is. The smile's back, if not in full force, then at least the closest to it Kelly's seen in a  _damn_  long time, and he feels himself grinning back.

"Sounds good," Casey says. "See you 'round eight or something?"

By 'or something,' Kelly knows Casey means 'on the dot.' Because the man is punctual as hell, and he's got to know by now that if he shows up even a minute late, Kelly's gonna rib him about it, if for no other reason than because messing with him's just second nature. Picking at him. It's just what they do.

He nods, taking a few steps back as Casey climbs in his truck. "Eight o'clock sharp," he tells him, flicking a mock salute his direction. "It's a date."

He spends the next four hours kicking himself over his choice of words, and he's not even a hundred percent sure why.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! Thanks again for reading.


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